


faith

by lorspolairepeluche



Series: all these earthly acts and more [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Religion, halla has a difficult relationship with andrastianism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorspolairepeluche/pseuds/lorspolairepeluche
Summary: I cannot see the path.Perhaps there is only abyss.Trembling, I step forward,In darkness enveloped.
(Canticle of  Trials, 1:13)





	

_I cannot see the path._

_Perhaps there is only abyss._

_Trembling, I step forward,_

_In darkness enveloped._

 

_(Canticle ofTrials, 1:13)_

 

—

“O Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights; steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked; make me to rest in the warmest places. O Creator, see me kneel, for I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, sing only the words you place in my throat. My Maker, know my heart. Take me from a life of sorrow; lift me from a world of pain—”

“Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.”

The voice that joins Cullen’s on the last line is soft, almost reflective. He turns to see a familiar figure lit by the glow of the candles’ flame, hesitating to enter the chapel. “Inquisitor?”

“We’re alone, Cullen; it’s all right,” she murmurs as he stands and turns to face her.

“Halla.” His voice warms on her name. “Have you come to pray, too?”

“No, I was…I was looking for you.” She only meets his eyes for a second.

“Would you like to join me?” Cullen invites.

“To pray?” Halla looks up again for just a moment. “I…no. No, thank you.” She lets out half a laugh. “The Herald of Andraste, and I don’t pray. Is that offense more or less than when I was just…”

“Just Halla?” Cullen prompts softly.

“Just Halla,” she agrees. “I…I think I’ve forgotten. How to pray, that is.”

The words surprise Cullen. “Forgotten? How can you forget?”

“It’s just been a long time, is all,” Halla says, still not looking at Cullen, her arms folded and her shoulders hunched as if to protect herself. “I don’t think I’ve been to a Chantry service in years. What an example for the faithful, huh?”

“Do you want to?”

Halla thinks about the question for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I refused to join the Chantry or become a templar—I was told that the Maker would reject me in turn for rejecting Him.”

“Refusing to join the Order isn’t rejecting the Maker, Halla,” Cullen tells her gently. “If anything, from what I know, it’s…well. It’s self-preservation.”

“Then I should have become a Sister. Who knows. Maybe one day I’d have risen to become a Revered Mother or something.”

Cullen actually laughs at the image of Halla in a Chantry Mother’s headdress. “You? Never.”

“You’re right; I would have kept sneaking off and getting into fights; they’d never make me a Mother.” Halla smiles halfheartedly. “Still. I feel like I turned my back on the Maker by refusing those options. I could have devoted myself to faith in two ways…and I did neither.”

Cullen doesn’t realize he’s walking toward Halla until he has stopped in front of her and he holds her face in his hands—gentle, gentle, in the way that he’s so surprised he’s still capable of. “Halla, there are plenty of people who are just as devoted to the Maker as any Sister, and they never even considered joining the Chantry or becoming a templar. And they have no reason to believe that the Maker would ever turn His face from them.” One of his hands drops to grasp hers, the left hand, the one that holds the Anchor that they say Andraste gave her. “Why do you?"

“They told me I was rejecting the Maker by refusing the call to duty,” Halla murmurs. Now that her eyes have met Cullen’s, she seems unable to tear them away. “They said He would turn his back on me, just as I’d turned mine on him. If that were true, I thought…why should I even try? What was the point, if the Maker wouldn’t hear it?”

“The Maker will hear you, Halla,” Cullen tells her surely. “You just have to speak to him.”

“I don’t…”

“You just have to try,” Cullen encourages. “Come.” He steps back, still holding her hand, tugging her with him to the front of the chapel. He shifts his grip so their fingers are intertwined as they stand before the statue of Andraste, and he continues his prayer.

“My Creator, judge me whole; find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire, that I be cleansed.”

“Tell me I have sung to Your approval.” Halla’s voice sounds more like a genuine plea than a recitation, and Cullen squeezes her hand as she falters and he goes on.

“O Maker, hear my cry. Seat me by Your side in death; make me one within Your glory, and let the world once more see Your favor. For You are the fire at the heart of the world…” He trails off, noticing Halla’s lips moving silently along with the words, and she finishes the prayer in a voice that is barely there.

“And comfort is only Yours to give.”

“There,” Cullen murmurs. “That was a prayer.”

But Halla falls to one knee, her head bowed and her hands clasping each other. “Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me.” She stops, swallows, and Cullen kneels next to her.

“But my faith sustains me; I shall fear not the legion should they set themselves against me.”

Halla’s voice rejoins his, and they speak together. “In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know: Your Light remains. I have heard the sound: a song in the stillness. The echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber.”

Cullen stops again, letting himself listen to Halla’s voice tumbling out in a long-repressed fall of words. “How can we know You? In the turning of the seasons, in life and death, in the empty space where our hearts hunger for a forgotten face? You have walked beside me, down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me. I have faced armies with You as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except Your absence. When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me and the taste of blood fills my mouth, then, in the pounding of my heart, I hear the glory of creation.”

At this point, Cullen isn’t sure whether Halla is reciting the Chant or recalling the memory of the day she fought to protect her brother. But he rejoins her anyway, continues the prayer when her voice falters again: “You have grieved as I have. You, who made worlds out of nothing. We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, comforting each other in our art. Do not grieve for me, Maker of All. Though all others may forget You, Your name is etched into my every step. I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself. Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.” He slips his hand into Halla’s as he finishes, “What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.” Halla has skipped several verses, but her voice is stronger now, and Cullen joins her once more. “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

The chapel is silent, but the words they have just spoken ring in both their heads for several seconds. Finally, Halla lets her head fall to Cullen’s shoulder, not armored for once, and as he puts an arm around her, she lets out a long breath. “I…think I’ve been wanting to say that for a long time.”

Cullen turns his head to kiss her hair. “There is no reason Andraste wouldn’t hear her Herald’s prayer.”

“Even if the mark wasn’t actually her doing?” Halla asks, allowing her eyes to close.

“Even then,” Cullen assures her. “The Maker has not turned His back on you, Halla.”

“You’re still so sure. Even after all…all that’s happened to you. You still have your faith.”

“If the Maker had turned his back on me, I never would have survived Kirkwall,” Cullen answers. “I never would have come to the Inquisition. And…I would never have met you.”

Halla smiles at that. “That is one piece of fate that I’m grateful for, at least.” As Cullen stands and pulls her to her feet as well, she hesitates. “Cullen…tell me again that the Maker won’t turn away from me.”

“He would never,” Cullen promises. He gathers her into his arms and reminds her, “He brought us together, even in the midst of so much chaos. I choose to take that as a sign that He loves both of us.” _Because there is no chance that He loves you any less than I do._

—

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.”

Halla stops in the doorway of the chapel again to see the same sight as months before, and she listens to Cullen pray.

“I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.” Cullen pauses, seems to struggle to finish the verse. “For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

Halla’s hand goes to where the coin hangs on a chain around her neck. “A prayer,” she says softly, stepping into the candlelit chapel.

“For those we have lost,” Cullen explains, glancing over his shoulder at her. “And…for those I am afraid to lose.”

“You’re afraid?” Halla keeps her voice gentle.

“Of course I am. Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden and—what more is he capable of?” Cullen wonders aloud, his anxiety tinging his voice. “It’s only a matter of time before he retaliates.” He stands and turns to face her. “We must draw strength wherever we can.” His gaze drops as he hesitates, and his voice begins to shake with a barely-contained cry. “When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again. Andraste preserve me…I must send you to him.”

They have the same thought at the same time, and Cullen’s arms catch Halla and hold her tight. “The thought of losing you… I can’t. I can’t lose you now, Halla.”

“The Maker hasn’t turned His back on us,” Halla murmurs. “He brought us together; nothing can tear us apart now. You said it yourself. ‘Nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.’”

Cullen smiles to hear her speaking the Chant so easily again. “If you choose to believe that.”

“I do,” Halla answers firmly, her panic abating. “I do believe that. Even if you don’t; I believe it enough for both of us. I will come back.” She pauses and hugs him tighter. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Cullen answers, his voice sure once more. “For now, that is enough.”

—

_I am not alone. Even_

_As I stumble on the path_

_With my eyes closed, yet I see_

_The Light is here._

 

_(Canticle of Trials, 1:15)_


End file.
